


What to Make of This

by defying3reason



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Pillow Talk, Devious Jehan, Grantaire is bad at flirting, M/M, Oblivious Enjolras, This is not Enjolras' first time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-21 01:04:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defying3reason/pseuds/defying3reason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You mock me. You think I’m some silly, naïve idealist and that nothing I say has value. You offer me help and then you sabotage my projects by failing to keep your promises. How could you love me?”</p><p>Enjolras and Grantaire's sexual tension has finally erupted, and a new relationship is negotiated. In the process, some of their assumptions are challenged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. I wrote this as a short, less-than-involved distraction while procrastinating a messy, emotional chapter for College Boys and High School Girls. This isn't part of that universe, but my characterizations are pretty similar. I wasn't in the mood to write porn-porn, sorry, so this is emotion-porn.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think <3

Now that he was coming down from the haze of his orgasm, Grantaire once again found the sight of the inhumanly gorgeous blond in his bed unfathomable. And not just because grace and loveliness personified had no business reclining in his repugnant little corner of the world, but also because even in Grantaire’s most unlikely (or so he’d thought) fantasies, he’d never expected to see Enjolras looking quite that fucked out.

Enjolras looking relaxed, susceptible to the same blisses and emotions as mere mortals, just didn’t seem right somehow. Hell, he was even a bit whiny when Grantaire dragged a washcloth over him to clean some of the less comfortable repercussions of their activities. Grantaire playfully swatted at his ass. “Come on Enjolras; you’ll regret it if I leave the spunk to dry.”

“Charming,” Enjolras murmured in a low, raspy voice. “I think we’re supposed to be cuddling now though. Aren’t you doing this wrong?”

“We cuddle _after_ we clean up the cum, not before.”

“Ah. Well then, forgive me for my inexperience.”

Grantaire finished his task, tossed the cloth aside, and then continued staring at the sleepily smiling blond draped over his bed. “You know, the cuddling’s optional. I mean, if you don’t want to…you don’t have to put up with me anymore.”

Enjolras rolled onto his side, and the relaxed look he’d worn gave way to the much more familiar exasperation. “Have I not made it abundantly clear at this point that I welcome your touch? I don’t consider cuddling optional, for the record. Now please get a grip on your low self-worth and enjoy the afterglow.”

“Is that an order?”

“If that’s what you need, then sure. I order you to stop sulking.”

Grantaire couldn’t help an amused smirk at that. Still feeling hesitant, like this fragile moment was going to disappear, he lay on the bed next to Enjolras, but left a few inches of space between them. Enjolras let out a small sigh, then bridged the gap between them and pillowed his head on Grantaire’s chest. Their bodies slotted together remarkably well, and the warm weight felt good in Grantaire’s arms. He let his eyes drift shut and focused on keeping his negativity at bay.

Enjolras reminded him something of a sleepy cat, the way he kept stretching and nuzzling, all the while a small, easy smile on his beautiful face. Grantaire ran his fingers through the sweat damp golden hair and let out his own contented sigh.

“I believe convention also dictates we exchange pleasantries while we cuddle.” Enjolras’ voice was slow and sleepy, exactly what it should be despite what he’d said.

“I’m sorry, living dictionary, was that your way of asking for pillow talk?”

Enjolras propped himself up enough so that he could look at Grantaire’s face (though why he wanted to was beyond the cynic’s comprehension). A few curls were hanging in front of his eyes, and much as Grantaire wanted to push them back he also didn’t want to alter the perfect composition before him. “I think at least a little pillow talk is a good idea.”

“Okay…shall I enumerate your many perfections for you?” Grantaire joked.

Enjolras frowned thoughtfully, as though he were actually giving that thought consideration. “That sounds rather boring. I’d settle for some definition on what this was. You just kind of started kissing me-”

“The first kiss was yours, beautiful.”

“Yes, but then I tried to say something, and you rather rudely pushed me against the wall-”

“You didn’t seem to mind at the time.”

Enjolras pushed the wayward curls out of his face, but of course he looked just as beautiful with or without the hair in his eyes. His expression was warring between bemused and frustrated. “At any rate, you never gave me the chance to explain the feelings I have for you that went with the kiss.”

“Feelings?” Grantaire repeated, sure he hadn’t heard that right.

Though really, none of this made sense to him. Enjolras didn’t seem the type of person to engage in casual sex, quite the opposite. As far as anyone knew, the guy was a virgin. And even if he were interested in casual sex, there were many more alluring prospects available to him then the messy drunk who pestered him when he was out with his real friends. But if this wasn’t something casual to Enjolras, then the alternative was equally baffling to Grantaire.

How could Enjolras possibly have feelings for a broken bastard like him?

“Yes, feelings,” Enjolras said slowly, as though Grantaire were a small child. “Come on ‘Taire, you know me. I wouldn’t do this with just anyone.”

“Yes, but…wait, what does _that_ mean? Have you done this before?”

Enjolras’ expression faltered. “…was I bad? I was bad, wasn’t I? Shit, I thought it went rather well. I mean, that was the hardest _I’ve_ ever come before, but I suppose I don’t have the experience you do, and-”

“Enjolras, please leave the paranoid, contextually lacking rants to me. I’ve called dibs on them.” Grantaire stroked a hand through Enjolras’ perfect curls, and the petting visibly calmed him. “I’m sorry. You weren’t bad, trust me. Far from it. I’d just always assumed you were a virgin.”

“Oh. Now that you mention it, I can see how you’d draw that conclusion. No, I wasn’t a virgin. I lost my virginity when I was seventeen.”

“Oh.” Grantaire knew it was utterly stupid of him, but he felt oddly disappointed. Not that he felt like he even deserved to make love to his beautiful slab of marble period, but it had still been oddly exciting to think he’d been Enjolras’ first.

“What about you?” Enjolras asked shyly, attempting to make reciprocal conversation from the looks of it. His cheeks colored when he realized how poorly suited this particular conversation was to that strategy. “Sorry. I don’t mean to pry. It’s just, you got quiet and…I can’t help feeling like I’ve done something wrong. Maybe pillow talk was a bad idea.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Grantaire said quickly. “Well, sleeping with me probably isn’t the best life choice you could make, but it’s also not in my best interest to call your attention to that. I was fifteen, by the way. I lost my virginity in the handicapped stall of a movie theater bathroom, because I’m classy like that.”

“Oh…”

Grantaire wished he could take that admission back. Enjolras looked so sad for him, and he couldn’t hide from the pitying eyes, not with Enjolras draped over him. His fidgeting fingers skated up and down the bare skin of Enjolras’ back, for lack of any other outlets for the sudden rush of nervous energy. He tried lowering his gaze, but Enjolras kissed his brow and rubbed his cheeks with his thumbs until he made eye contact again. “It wasn’t bad,” Grantaire mumbled.

“It doesn’t sound like it was particularly special,” Enjolras said. “You deserved for it to be special.”

Grantaire thought back on the upperclassman that had tugged him into the bathroom with a possessive arm around his waist. He couldn’t even remember the guy’s name.

“Alright, so maybe my first time was less than spectacular. This, on the other hand…” He trailed his hands up Enjolras’ back and gave a slow rub to his sharp shoulder blades.. “This more than makes up for it.”

Enjolras’ face lit up. He leaned in for a kiss, just a quick brush of warm lips, and then continued to smile radiantly at him. “So Combeferre and Courfeyrac _were_ right.”

Grantaire quirked an eyebrow. “You’re being incomprehensible again.”

“Sorry. What I meant was, you have feelings for me too.”

Grantaire gaped at him. “Of course I do. Have I not made that abundantly clear?”

Enjolras chewed his lip and shook his head. “No, Grantaire, you haven’t. I actually thought you hated me.”

Grantaire had to sit up for that. Enjolras followed suit, so that they were facing each other with their hands clasped together. The view was a bit distracting, but the conversation was certainly more than capable of holding Grantaire’s attention. “Enjolras, I have been passionately in love with you since the day we met.”

Enjolras looked genuinely surprised to hear it. He scooched back a couple of inches, grabbed one of Grantaire’s pillows, and hugged it to his chest. After trying to speak a few times he finally managed to get the words out while shaking his head. “You mock me. You think I’m some silly, naïve idealist and that nothing I say has value. You offer me help and then you sabotage my projects by failing to keep your promises. How could you love me?”

Grantaire’s stomach dropped. That was all defensive posturing on his part, sure as he’d been of rejection without even making an attempt at seducing the man he’d been smitten with. But Enjolras, who was nothing but truth and sincerity himself, had taken all of Grantaire’s words and actions at their face value. Of course he wouldn’t understand self-sabotage.

“I love you,” Grantaire insisted. “I think the world of you. You’re an idealist, and yes, I think you’re fighting a losing battle, but the fact that you’re trying…I have faith in nothing, Enjolras, except you. I believe in you.”

Enjolras’ eyes watered. “Oh…well then. That’s…I really misjudged the situation, didn’t I?”

“My fault. I never expected you could like me back. My bullshit was me dealing with that. Seriously, are you sure it’s me that you want? You could have anyone-”

“I _want_ _you_.” Enjolras’ voice was low and threatening. If Grantaire weren’t utterly sated, the anger there would have turned straight to arousal. As it was, he could feel a bit of arousal pooling in his stomach.

What was he going to do to this poor boy?

Grantaire grinned. “Alright, I’m all yours. You’re sure about this?”

Enjolras nodded. “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”

Grantaire snatched his pillow away from Enjolras, tossed it to the end of the bed, and pulled Enjolras into his arms again. This time they both settled under the sheets, and the cuddling felt relaxed and peaceful.

Grantaire still couldn’t believe this was real. He wasn’t sure a lifetime of holding Enjolras this close could do anything to make that surreal feeling disappear.

“So…if being a distracting pain in the ass was your way of dealing with the misguided notion that you couldn’t have me, does this mean you’re not going to be disruptive when I’m trying to get work done from now on?” The hopeful tone in Enjolras’ voice really was adorable.

Grantaire laughed. “Baby, you really are an idealist, aren’t you?”

“Oh shut up.”

Still laughing, Grantaire tilted Enjolras’ face up for a slow, sleepy kiss. His lover (boyfriend…?) looked breathtakingly beautiful with his hair mussed, cheeks still lightly flushed, and features glowing with happiness. Grantaire couldn’t help but wonder what other individual had been treated to that rare sight in the past. He really wasn’t jealous. What right did he have to be jealous when he’d never even thought himself worthy of a perfect moment like this?

But he’d told Enjolras about his first time, and he didn’t want to open their relationship stewing in paranoid musings. It seemed simplest to just ask.

They were clearly transitioning from cuddling into a nap (which was good; Enjolras definitely didn’t get enough sleep). Before Enjolras managed to nod off Grantaire asked his question. “So am I to take it that your first time was more enchanting than a public bathroom?”

“I’m not sure enchanting was the right word, but I’m happy with the remembrance.”

Enjolras didn’t seem to take the hint, so Grantaire nudged him physically as well as verbally. “C’mon Enj, I told you about mine. What was your first time like?” He playfully poked at Enjolras’ sides for emphasis.

Enjolras wriggled away from the tickling touch and let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re going to make fun of me.”

“Oh? Was that supposed to make me less interested in prying?” Grantaire asked. Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“I suppose not. It’s just so cliché…”

“What, did you lose your virginity on prom night or something?” Grantaire asked with a snort. Enjolras’ face turned red, and he let out a startled laugh. “You did? Really?”

“At least it wasn’t with my prom date. I was forced to take the daughter of one of my parents’ horrible friends, and after I was free of her and all my lingering obligations I went for a drive with one of my friends to unwind from the horibble night. One thing lead to another, we discussed our physical attraction to each other, and, well...So yes, I lost my virginity on prom night in the back seat of a car. I know you enjoy being contrary, so seeing as I expect you to tease me ruthlessly for this, you would definitely take me by surprise by being polite and tactful instead."

Grantaire managed to control his laughter, but his shoulders were faintly shaking with the effort of suppressing it. “Sorry, sorry. I can see where enchanting isn’t the right word for that. But it was nice?”

“Mm,” Enjolras agreed. “It didn’t turn into anything, of course, but it was a good experience.”

“Ah. Well I’m glad your friend was gentle with you,” Grantaire said magnanimously, or as magnanimously as he could considering the burning jealousy and completely irrational hatred he was suddenly flooded with for this high school friend who’d clearly mangled Enjolras’ first time. Enjolras was twenty two years old, and had kept his libido in tight check until their sexual tension had erupted in a spectacular and passionate manner. High school buddy had probably contributed to Enjolras’ disinterest in exploring his sexuality.

But he kept all that animosity hidden from Enjolras, who looked amused by Grantaire’s insincere words. “Of course he was gentle with me. I wouldn’t expect anything else from Combeferre.”

Well. That wasn't going to help with his irrational jealousy at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire doesn't handle definition well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this went in a direction I didn't foresee. This fanfic might turn out a bit longer than I'd initially planned...

_EARLIER THAT WEEK_

Courfeyrac and Combeferre were crowded over Combeferre’s laptop playing a music trivia game together when Enjolras finally stormed into the Musain. Even though he was the one who was late to meet them, Courfeyrac still scrambled to hide the game before Enjolras could see it and bitch them out for wasting time. The kid looked like he was in one of his _moods_.

“Hey Enjolras. How are you doing? We are pleasantly productive and totally ready to discuss talking points for the demonstration tomorrow-”

“Don’t bother,” Enjolras snarled. He flung himself into the chair opposite them and crossed his arms over his chest. “We’ll have to plan those out on the drive in. Tonight we need to make signs.”

“I thought Grantaire volunteered to make the signs,” Combeferre said, brow furrowing with confusion.

Enjolras nodded. “He did. Which is why we don’t have any fucking signs. I don’t know why I keep letting him talk me into giving him tasks. He never actually does anything. You know, other than goad me and mock me. I have no idea what’s wrong with that useless sack of shit, but I’m getting really sick of it.”

Courfeyrac frowned. “Lighten up, Enj. Grantaire doesn’t mean any harm. It’s just kind of hard to remember a promise you make when you’re three sheets to the wind.”

“That’s another thing,” Enjolras said with a scowl. “Why do you all accept his constant state of inebriation as an excuse for his bad behavior? I swear, I’m the only one who holds him accountable for his many, _many_ failings.”

Combeferre let out an irritated huff before moving to shut down his computer. “Can we please just work on the signs without analyzing Grantaire’s character flaws? I’m getting rather sick of discussing him. I’d much rather just be productive.”

Enjolras turned a mild glare on him, clearly confused and frustrated because of it. “What do you mean you’re sick of discussing him? We don’t spend that much time-”

“We kinda do,” Courfeyrac said with a grin. “Or haven’t you noticed?” Enjolras looked at him blankly. “Oh, that’s too good! If you talk about him this much without noticing how odd that is, you must spend even more time thinking about him. Like, ridiculous amounts of time! Do you have long, interior monologues about our wayward artist, Enjolras? Do you?”

Enjolras’ face colored even as he insisted otherwise. “Why on earth would I spend my free time thinking about Grantaire? I’m too busy with school and social activism to spare more than the occasional passing, irritated thought for that damned idiot who isn’t really an idiot and has the talent and the potential to do so much good if it weren’t for his damned cynicism and-Courfeyrac, why are you laughing at me?”

Even Combeferre was grinning at Enjolras’ expense, and that wasn’t like him. “Enjolras, your denial is getting to be a bit much.”

“We can tell you like him,” Courfeyrac added, covering his giggles with a hand over his mouth.

Enjolras pressed his lips together, eyes narrowed in a glare his friends would have found terrifying if they hadn’t known him for most of his life. When you’d seen the kindergarten version of that look it somehow just wasn’t as effective as it was on normal people. “Of course I like Grantaire. He’s my friend, even if he is an infuriating jack ass.”

“Mm. Grantaire is an infuriating jack ass, isn’t he? Least his ass is cute though,” Courfeyrac baited.

Unfortunately, Enjolras was so off-balance by the turn in conversation that it worked. “That’s beside the point-”

“Ha!” Courfeyrac crowed. “You think ‘Taire’s ass is cute! You li-ike him, you li-ike him.”

Enjolras slammed his hand on the table. “Will you cut it the crap out!?”

“Enjolras, calm down. You’re going to get us kicked out,” Combeferre snapped, looking warily around the café. More than a few people were staring at them. “Besides, there’s nothing wrong with having a crush on Grantaire.”

“But I don’t-”

“We are your closest friends and we’re both calling shenanigans on this,” Combeferre said.

Courfeyrac nodded his agreement. “Besides Enj, what’s the alternative? You’ve either been obsessing over Grantaire for the past, like, half a year because of pent up sexual frustration, or because you want to abduct him, hide him in a basement, and slowly torture him to death horror movie style. I’d say the former’s much more preferable to the latter. I like our jaded hipster art kid alive and kicking.”

Enjolras sighed, but finally started to relax. “Fine, I’ll admit it. I find Grantaire sexually attractive. You’ll notice, though, that I haven’t been acting on my feelings. There’s a reason for that, now will you both kindly drop this subject? I swung by the craft store on my way here, and I have the materials to make the signs in my trunk. We should really just grab our coffees, head out, and get to work.”

“Wait, why haven’t you been acting on your feelings?” Combeferre asked, looking puzzled. Enjolras had started to get up, adorably optimistic in thinking that his friends would follow him out to his car. At Combeferre’s words he scowled and retook his seat. “I’d thought you were in denial about your crush.”

“Yeah, me too,” Courfeyrac said.

Again, Enjolras looked between his two friends, painfully confused. “I’d thought it was rather obvious. He doesn’t like me back, so why should I act on my feelings when I’m sure to be reject-dammit Courfeyrac, why are you laughing at me now?”

“Sorry,” Courfeyrac said, smacking a hand over his mouth to hide his continued giggles. “It’s just…are you _blind_? And deaf? Because really, that’s the only explanation I’ve got. No, never mind. Even a blind, deaf mute would have noticed that Grantaire’s head over heels for you and always has been.”

“He isn’t-”

“Enjolras, he isn’t even a little bit subtle about it,” Combeferre said. “He flirts with you rather shamelessly.”

“It’s mean-spirited. He flirts to get a rise out of me, and to mock me for my prudishness,” Enjolras countered. “Or haven’t you noticed how much he enjoys calling attention to the fact that I champion the rights of a minority community defined by their sexuality without acknowledging my own?”

“’Ferre didn’t say he was _good_ at flirting with you, just that he was shameless,” Courfeyrac pointed out. “Dude, no offense, but you’re kind of intimidating and Grantaire doesn’t have the best self-esteem in the world. Y’know? I mean, it takes him a couple drinks just to loosen up enough to talk to you, let alone anything else. And when the messy drunk kid has enough drinks to be comfortable, the results probably aren’t what he’s going for.”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed with thought as he considered this. “You really think I intimidate him?”

Combeferre let out an incredulous snort before knocking back what remained of his coffee. “He talks about you when you’re not around almost as much as you talk about him.”

“He draws you a lot too,” Courfeyrac added. “I’ve seen the sketches. They’re really nice pieces, actually. Surprisingly sentimental, for a guy like Grantaire. That’s how I could tell we were dealing with love, not just lust.”

“Ah.” Enjolras didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. He climbed unsteadily to his feet, and without saying anything more made his distracted way out of the café.

Combeferre hastily shoved his computer into his backpack. “Do you think we should have confronted him with it like that?”

“Probably not, but who cares? Things needed to be said. I know their mutual pining has been annoying the crap out of you too, so don’t even pretend it hasn’t.” Courfeyrac pulled his sweatshirt on, and the two of them followed Enjolras out of the café.

Combeferre refrained from mentioning that the pining hadn’t been annoying him, though it was having an effect.

_PRESENT_

Grantaire was painfully aware of the fact that he and Enjolras hadn’t really defined anything. They’d kissed, groped, and fucked, then they’d had some ridiculously uncomfortable pillow talk where they confessed feelings on both sides, and after a short nap they’d taken turns showering (despite a few repetitions of ‘sharing is caring’ from Grantaire), dressed, and headed out to meet their friends at the Musain.

Grantaire couldn’t help staring at Enjolras’ hand, which was loosely swinging at his side as he walked. Should he take it? Were they that kind of couple?

Were they even a couple? Enjolras was one of those introspective leftists who analyzed sexuality for research papers and used all kinds of unwieldy academic labels for shit that just came naturally to most people. Maybe he’d find the term boyfriend offensive somehow. Grantaire had no idea what it meant for Enjolras to have feelings for him.

Well, it might have meant he’d suffered some form of brain damage before they’d fallen into bed together.

Ultimately, Grantaire left the hand swinging at Enjolras’ side, and when they walked into the café he made to take his usual post at the end of the table, where he typically gave his sarcastic commentary on the group’s political aims. But then Enjolras touched his arm and gave him a searching, not-quite-vulnerable look (but only because Enjolras didn’t really do vulnerable). “Would you sit with me tonight?”

“Okay,” Grantaire said, without pausing for thought. Looking directly at Enjolras tended to render him either monosyllabic, usually the response he had when sober, or gave him an extreme case of verbal diarrhea, which would be the fantastically shitfaced response.

Grantaire sat next to Enjolras in the middle of the table, earning a few intrigued looks from their friends as everyone settled in. Usually Courfeyrac sat where Grantaire was, though he didn’t seem to mind having his spot usurped when he finally did show up. He playfully whapped Grantaire’s beanie off his head, then seated himself on Feuilly’s lap.

Feuilly looked sorely tempted to deposit Courfeyrac on the floor, but he also didn’t seem to want to risk spilling his drink, and so ultimately decided to live with the flirty activist straddling him. “There are plenty of other chairs available, you know.” Not silently, though.

“Don’t be such a sour puss, Feuilly. You know you like physical affection.”

“Actually, I’m not really that huge on it. Will you please get off my lap?”

“Everyone likes physical affection.”

“You’re not my type. Seriously, lap. Off.”

Courfeyrac pouted, then let out a little yelp when Bahorel grabbed his collar and yanked. “Hey!”

“Hey!” Feuilly agreed, as his drink splashed out of his ceramic mug and over his and Courfeyrac’s t-shirts.

“Fuck!” Courfeyrac yelped. “Why’d you get a hot tea? It’s fucking July! Who drinks hot beverages in July?”

Enjolras started rubbing at his eyes with his hands. “Oh look, you’re behaving tonight so of course Courfeyrac had to cause a scene instead. God forbid things run smoothly for once.”

“Who said I’m going to behave tonight?” Grantaire asked, keeping his voice low.

Enjolras quirked an eyebrow. “I’d thought your mockery was part of an ill-conceived attempt at flirtation. You’ve succeeded in your goal, so you really don’t need to piss me off anymore.”

“But Enjolras, I really do think your projects are stupid and ultimately futile, and that you benefit greatly from having that pointed out to you. A little dose of reality to keep you from getting too lost in that rose tinted fairy world of perfect freedom and equality you keep talking up in your shared group delusion can only be good for you.”

Enjolras let out a sigh. “Why am I sleeping with you, exactly?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Damned if I know, but thank you.”

“That’s not-you don’t say ‘thank you’ when someone makes love to you.”

“Okay, what conversation are we missing over here?” Bahorel asked suddenly, and Enjolras groaned, realizing that his exasperated tone of voice had carried over the table. Even Feuilly and Courfeyrac stopped their bickering, which gave Jehan the chance to pounce on each of them with his hand embroidered handkerchiefs to dab at the spilled tea (incidentally, hot tea was the cheapest thing on the menu).

Their friends were all watching Enjolras and Grantaire expectantly. Grantaire wasn’t used to having quite so much attention focused on him when he was sober. He shrunk down in his seat a little under the scrutiny, while Enjolras returned their stares coolly. “I don’t know why you’re all staring at us like that. Courfeyrac and Combeferre made it sound like everyone knew Grantaire and I liked each other.”

“Well, except the two of you,” Courfeyrac amended. “Seriously ‘Taire, he had no idea. Isn’t that cute?”

“Fucking adorable,” Grantaire snapped, rolling his eyes.

“We all knew you two liked each other, but I don’t think any of us expected you to actually do anything about it,” Bossuet explained. Joly nodded his immediate agreement.

“So does that mean you’re dating now?” Jehan asked, looking like Christmas had come early.

Grantaire and Enjolras traded a look. Enjolras looked just as confused as he felt, but certainly not averse to the idea. “Are we dating?” Grantaire asked.

“Would you like to be?”

Desperately. It wasn’t even a question really, so why couldn’t he get his emphatic yes out?

“I’d like to be,” Enjolras said. “I don’t know how you feel about conventional dating, but I’d prefer full monogamy, titles, and small displays of public affection. Because if I see you behaving romantically or sexually with anyone else, I think the consequences of my actions might get me incarcerated.”

“He’s never been very good at sharing,” Courfeyrac joked.

Grantaire felt lost. “Are we really opening the meeting by negotiating this?”

“I wanted to do it in private, but you changed the subject. ‘Taire, please, I can’t wait anymore. Are you going to be my boyfriend?” Enjolras took his hand, looking so uncharacteristically frightened and hopeful that it almost hurt to look at him.

Grantaire wasn’t supposed to get what he wanted. That’s not how life worked. He was perfectly comfortable, not happy, but _comfortable_ dammit, pining for Enjolras from afar. Now that he was so near (holding his fucking hand, even), he’d be able to see all the reasons why this was a bad idea. Grantaire couldn’t hide anything from him anymore.

Shit. Everyone was waiting for him to answer.

He wanted this. He wanted this so bad he physically ached for it most nights. He was disgustingly in love with this man, and for some miraculous reason Enjolras wanted him too. All he had to do was say yes, and they’d be in a relationship, so why couldn’t he get the word out?

Grantaire’s throat felt constricted. He needed air. Suddenly dropping Enjolras’ smooth, flawless hand as though it had burned him, Grantaire fled the café as quickly as he could. He darted down the alleyway between the Musain at the bank next door, sucking deep lungfuls of air that didn’t seem to make a difference. He still felt like he couldn’t breathe, and he still couldn’t fucking say yes.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Amis call bullshit on Grantaire and Enjolras' drama, but talking sense into those two is easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to be blocked on CB&HSG (I blame Eponine and Feuilly; the e/R scenes are all coming smoothly, but those two are holding me up!) so you guys get another update of this fic. Hope you like it!
> 
> A chapter detailing Enjolras and Combeferre's prom night is in the works ;)

Enjolras stared blankly at the spot Grantaire had been sitting in just moments before, doing his best to ignore the feeling very like physical pains shooting through his stomach. He blinked a couple of times, but no, Grantaire was still gone. And worse, his friends were all staring at him, mostly with frozen expressions of shock, but Jehan and Feuilly were pretty obviously pitying him.

“What just happened?” Enjolras asked, feeling a bit helpless.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre traded a look, then both moved as one with different goals, a result of some unspoken understanding. Courfeyrac slipped his sweatshirt on, touched Bahorel, Joly, and Bossuet’s shoulders as he passed them, then made his way towards the exit. The group of them left the Musain to search for Grantaire, while Jehan, Feuilly, and Combeferre sat with Enjolras.

He recovered a bit of his composure, seeing his friends watching him with concern and that damned pity. “I’m fine,” Enjolras insisted, even though he’d never been further from fine in his life.

This was why he’d avoided romantic entanglements. Something about him pushed people away. His exterior was pleasing enough, and Enjolras could definitely work a crowd better than most trained public speakers, but when it came to any kind of intimacy he always screwed things up.

It appeared Combeferre and Courfeyrac were wrong. Grantaire had been more than happy to sleep with him, but he hadn’t been in love with Enjolras. The fact that he’d literally fled from commitment surely demonstrated that beyond a doubt.

Jehan squeezed Enjolras’ shoulder, bringing him out of his gloomy thoughts. “Whatever you’re thinking, dear, you appear to have the story wrong.”

Enjolras gave himself a little shake. “It’s not important. Can you-can someone get the others back in here? We’re supposed to be talking about the federal minimum wage increase, not…whatever just happened.”

“We need to address this, Enj,” Combeferre insisted, as gently as possible.

“What’s to address?” Enjolras asked, that feeling in his stomach growing sharper with every labored breath. If they pressed him to talk about this he was going to lose any semblance of composure, and the results wouldn’t be pretty. He was capable of being terrible when pushed in that direction, and he felt himself starting to lose it. “Clearly you and Courfeyrac were wrong-”

“No, Enjolras-”

“And Grantaire really does hate me-”

“He doesn’t! Enjolras, you just scared him.”

“Yes, the prospect of dating me scared him,” Enjolras shouted. “But he was more than happy to fuck me. Apparently I expected too much from an encounter, for the second god damn time. I won’t make that mistake again, I assure you all, so can we please get to work?”

Combeferre looked sick to his stomach, and Enjolras felt a stab of guilt for what he’d said. Truthfully though, he was still a bit bitter about the way Combeferre had lead him on in high school, and his inner seventeen year old rejoiced to see the sour milk pallor Combeferre took on.

Feuilly was obviously perplexed by Enjolras’ words, Combeferre was too hurt to speak, so it was on Jehan to do something. To everyone’s surprise, he firmly grasped Enjolras by the elbow and yanked until he followed. Enjolras knew his gentle friend had a spine of steel underneath his romantic and dreamy exterior, but he wasn’t used to the more forceful aspects of Jehan’s personality working against him.

Too stunned and already feeling emotionally wrung out, Enjolras followed him into the privacy of the Musain’s men’s room. Jehan locked the door securely behind them, put down the toilet lid, and turned towards Enjolras with an imperious set to his shoulders. “Sit.”

“I’m not a dog,” Enjolras said, sounding petulant even to his own ears.

“Sit, _please_ then.”

Sighing, Enjolras sat down on the toilet and let his arms dangle limply in front of him. He looked up at Jehan expectantly.

“For starters, I am completely aware of your history with Combeferre, and your remarks just now were uncalled for.”

Enjolras’ brow knit together. “He told you?”

“Yes he did. In confidence, of course, but I feel justified in letting you know that I know. You’re wrong to slight him for what happened, and you’re wrong about Grantaire as well.”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes and gave his head a small shake. “No, you’re wrong. I was there both times, Jehan. Both of them were more than happy to use me carnally, but that’s where their feelings end, apparently. And why should they be interested in more. I don’t really do romance. I’d probably make an abhorrent boyfriend, so I can’t say I blame them for running from that attachment. Literally, in Grantaire’s case. The only thing about me that interests them is my appearance. Everything else is an exhausting annoyance.”

“Enjolras, dear, are you intentionally being slow witted about this or do you really not see it?”

“See what?”

And that damned pity was back in Jehan’s eyes. “Your friends love you. Grantaire and Combeferre both love you. Combeferre feared that a romantic relationship would hurt your friendship, and somehow he got it into his head that you didn’t want one anyway. He thought all you were interested in was experimenting sexually.”

“But I told him…” Hadn’t he? Enjolras tried to think back on that conversation, but it was five years ago and the specific wording was mostly lost to him. What stood out most clearly was the overwhelming feeling of rejection that came upon hearing the words “our friendship means a lot to me; too much to ruin.”

“If you told him, he didn’t get the message,” Jehan said. His body language started to relax again, the spine of steel giving way to the gentler support that normally characterized him. “Grantaire’s case is quite different though. He suffers from crippling self-esteem issues. The poor thing honestly thinks he’s not good enough to be your friend, let alone your lover. I think all he trusted himself with was pleasures of the carnal sort.”

That did sound like it fit Grantaire, come to think of it.

“That’s ridiculous though,” Enjolras said, voice quiet and posture subdued. He couldn’t fill even the small space of the bathroom with his usual conviction, because he knew Jehan was right. Even if that horrid worldview was utterly ridiculous and inaccurate, that didn’t make it any less Grantaire’s. “Of course Grantaire deserves my friendship. And obviously I’d like to give him more than that.”

“Yes, well, we’ll try to get that through to him. In the meantime, Enjolras…do you believe me when I say that two of your friends have feelings for you?”

“I suppose…though I still think Combeferre…” He trailed off as the full significance of what Jehan had said hit him. “Combeferre’s been in love with me since we were in high school.”

Jehan nodded, even though it wasn’t a question.

“He was my first love. I forced myself to get over him because I thought he didn’t care for me like that.” Enjolras blinked a few times, then looked up at Jehan’s sad smile, feeling lost. “Are you sure they both have feelings for me?”

“Enjolras, they’re madly in love with you. Both of them.”

“Ah. That’s…that’s going to be a problem.”

* * *

Meanwhile, Grantaire was suffering through his own confrontation outside. It hadn’t taken his friends that long to locate him; as a matter of fact, the alleyway next to the Musain had been the first place Courfeyrac looked.

Joly darted over to Grantaire and placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. “He’s having a panic attack. Grantaire, look at me. I’m going to count and I want you to breathe with my counts, okay? One, two…three, four…can you count with me? Deep breaths. One, two…three, four…”

“F-five…six…” Grantaire forced out.

Courfeyrac, Bossuet, and Bahorel formed a ring around him, though they kept a respectful distance, figuring crowding him would only make it worse. They counted with him, and as a group they got his breathing under control.

When he was breathing slowly and regularly, Joly took his pulse and then let out a relieved sigh. “Oh good. How are you feeling, Grantaire?”

“Like I want to drown myself in the Heidelberg tun.”

“Well at least he’s being honest.”

“Bossuet, this is not the time to try to put a positive face on things.”

Bahorel crouched down next to Joly. “Dude, I don’t get it. You’ve been pining after Enjolras for fucking ever. Why’d you run away?”

“I…I can’t date _Enjolras_. He…I…no. It just, it won’t work. How could that work?” Grantaire shook his head, and apparently his movements were getting too anxious for Joly’s tastes, because he shoved Bahorel until he moved away.

It was actually kind of funny to watch. Bahorel was almost a foot taller than Joly and had quite a bit of weight on him.

“Grantaire, Enjolras likes you. Like, a lot,” Courfeyrac said. “Of course you can date him.”

Grantaire shook his head emphatically. “What business would he have with me? He’s everything, and all I am is one big stinking lack. I can’t do that. Even if he’s momentarily lost his mind, I can’t do that to him. It’s selfish enough of me to burden you all with my friendship.”

“Fucking hell,” Bahorel muttered. “It was bad enough when you were just talking about Enj. Now we’re all involved? You think we _all_ don’t want you around?”

Grantaire didn’t answer. He hugged his knees to his chest and kept his head down.

“Grantaire, we all like you,” Bossuet insisted. “Really, that’s why you get so many party invites.”

“And you’ll notice that we complain when you miss meetings,” Joly said. “It’s not because we ever expect you to do anything productive for our political causes. We know you think they’re all shit. We just like hanging out with you.”

“Really and truly,” Courfeyrac added. “And clearly Enjolras is interested in more than just hanging out with you.”

“You need to go back in there and talk to him,” Joly said.

Grantaire started trembling. “I can’t.”

“You have to,” Joly repeated. “’Taire, if you’d seen his face when you left…”

“I’ve never seen Enjolras look doubtful before,” Bossuet said. “It was kind of scary.”

“Yeah. He’s supposed to be made of conviction, but you shook him. Rejection isn’t a good look for him,” Bahorel agreed.

Grantaire tightened his hold on his knees as his body shook more violently than ever. So he was already hurting Enjolras, and that was sparing him any kind of real exposure to his demons. So far his beautiful slab of marble had only glimpsed the rot in his soul through self-deprecating jokes and the occasional long winded rant. He didn’t deserve to have to put up with the more serious manifestations of Grantaire’s issues.

“I can’t face him.”

“Alright,” Courfeyrac said, to disbelieving murmurs from Joly and Bossuet, and some colorful muttered swears from Bahorel. “You don’t have to then. But let me walk you home. You don’t look so good, and you shouldn’t be alone.”

That sounded fair enough, and it would probably get everyone else off his back. Besides, Courfeyrac was one of Grantaire's favorite drinking buddies, and with the way this day had gone, Grantaire definitely needed a drink.

He should have known something was up. The seemingly sincere offer of help was so close to what Grantaire most wanted at the moment, and he wasn’t supposed to get what he wanted. Clearly he didn’t handle getting what he wanted all that well anyway.

He probably should have expected it when Courfeyrac and Combeferre locked him and Enjolras into the maintenance closet together. Even if he had expected it, he’d still have to wonder how they talked Enjolras into going back to his apartment building. Grantaire was easy enough to manipulate and misdirect when he got into one of his shaky moods, but Enjolras…

Ah well. Grantaire definitely had more pressing things to focus his attention on.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combeferre did indeed go out to his car, but he didn’t drive anywhere. He glared down at the text Jehan had sent him, and tried his best not to think of five years ago, of graceful white legs wrapping around his torso, of a swan-like neck bruised from his kisses and bites, of that angelic face twisted in passion, and mostly he pretended he didn’t vividly remember the feel of perfect lips against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got four days of peace and quiet while my housemates are away on vacation. Oh goodness, but the writing that will happen! Not to mention sleep. I haven't had a restful night of sleep since March :)
> 
> So yeah, I'm hoping to make some progress on this fic, to add at least a couple of chapters to CB&HSG, and to catch up on all those unanswered comments I've got floating in my inbox (last I checked I think I'm into the 60s now...oops). Anywho, feel free to leave me more feedback. I still love getting it even when I'm spectacularly failing at writing replies. And thank you all for your genuine awesomeness and support.
> 
> Hope you like the new chapter :)

“There. Now all we need to do is come back in an hour or so, and all our problems will be solved.”

“That’s sit-com logic. I’m still not sold on this plan. I don’t think these sorts of ruses work in real life.”

Courfeyrac scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a downer. Look, Enjolras and Grantaire have been pining for way too frickin’ long now, and they almost had it. What happened at the Musain was clearly just a communication issue. Now that they’re alone in close quarters they’ll work it out and we can advance this episode to its happy ending-”

“I swear Courfeyrac, we’re really not a sit-com.”

“That doesn’t mean the plan won’t work.”

“You’ve been watching way too much Community.” Combeferre’s phone buzzed, startling him away from his conversation. He glanced down, then glanced back at Courfeyrac with an irritated scowl. “Did you tell Jehan about this?”

“If he’s the one that’s texting you then I assume you already know the answer to that. Makes your query a bit redundant.”

Combeferre let out an irritated huff and started walking towards the elevator.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“For a drive. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Cool. I’ll stay nearby in case they run out of oxygen or something and need help.”

Combeferre did indeed go out to his car, but he didn’t drive anywhere. He glared down at the text Jehan had sent him, and tried his best not to think of five years ago, of graceful white legs wrapping around his torso, of a swan-like neck bruised from his kisses and bites, of that angelic face twisted in passion, and mostly he pretended he didn’t vividly remember the feel of perfect lips against his.

Grantaire had experienced all that, and the miserable bastard was even sober enough to remember it (‘Cut it out, Combeferre, you _like_ Grantaire,’ he thought, without much conviction).

He read the text back for the third time. _Dearest, I’ve just been alerted that you’ve helped to seclude Grantaire and Enjolras together for an undetermined period of time. Is this wise? I think you ought to talk to Enjolras, my friend, preferably before it’s too late._

Combeferre had no idea how to respond to that. Jehan was probably right, but then, would telling Enjolras about the extent of his feelings really help? He’d tried once, and it hadn’t worked. All Enjolras had wanted from him was sexual experimentation. The feelings hadn’t been there. And even then, Combeferre figured he’d gone a little further than Enjolras had wanted to go on prom night.

But what a perfect night it had been. Holding Enjolras close, babbling all manner of idiotic things at him (he’d tried to hold it in, but the fluffy emotional drivel kept bubbling up out of him involuntarily), running his fingers through sunshine colored hair and kissing him as much as he wanted and having it all be okay…it had felt so good, like it had meant something. What he’d done with the other counselors at Natural Sciences Camp felt like experimentation, but what he’d done with Enjolras had felt like so much more.

Combeferre closed his eyes and hissed in a quick breath. Before he was aware of it, his fingers were moving over the screen of his phone and he was answering Jehan. _I can’t. I’ll just ruin things. I missed my chance. He might as well get to be happy with R._

_But darling, do you think he will?_

Combeferre’s brow furrowed. _What do you mean?_

The reply was immediate. _Do you really think that R can make Enjolras happy? I think they’re a bit volatile a mix to be lovers._

_But they love each other._

The reply was a little longer in coming this time, and as he waited Combeferre tried not to imagine what might be going on in the janitor’s closet at that very minute (impossibly long legs, kiss swollen lips, gold and ink black hair plastered to damp skin).

_They care a great deal for each other, but they don’t show it very well, do they? Enjolras doesn’t really understand Grantaire. He sets him off unintentionally all the time. And much as R loves Enjolras, he idolizes him even more. Enjolras is barely even human to him. That’s no way to create a mutually fulfilling relationship. That’s a recipe for codependency, if ever I heard one. I want only happiness for both of them, but I’m not sure of them finding it together._

Combeferre worried at his lip with his teeth. _But you think I could make Enjolras happy?_

 _Yes._ The reply was instant. Combeferre started to type out a response, but another text followed after. _You know Enjolras. You know how to communicate with him, the difference between what he’s trying to say and what he ends up saying instead. You’ve helped him grow and he does the same for you. I think you’d be radiant together._

“I do too,” Combeferre whispered. He slouched down against the seat and made a pained noise that wasn’t quite a sob. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s not what he wants.”

He almost jumped out of his skin when a skinny hand knocked on his window.

Jehan was standing just outside the car door. He had his phone in his hand and his ear buds in. He gave a little wave, and Combeferre pressed the button to unlock his doors. Jehan climbed into the passenger seat, set his messenger bag in the back, and hugged his legs to his chest. “Now you know my secret.”

“Your secret?” Combeferre asked.

“Mm.” Jehan nodded. “That I ship you and Enjolras together. I think you’re perfect for him.”

“Will you and Courfeyrac stop behaving as though we’re fictional? You can’t ship real people.”

“The internet begs to differ. Besides, I can’t make any promises regarding Courfeyrac. Now darling, are you going to march over to that closet and declare your feelings, or aren’t you? Because I promise you one thing…if you wait too long, Enjolras and Grantaire _will_ sort their drama out and start dating.”

“Which is probably for the best. As Enjolras loves Grantaire.”

Jehan made a noise peculiar to him that signaled exasperation. It was a certain sort of rapid inhalation that made a soft squeak on the inward sniff. “Enjolras loves you too.”

“As a friend. He made that clear.”

“Did he?” Jehan pressed. “Come now, are you sure the two of you didn’t suffer a miscommunication? You were teenagers, after all. Teenagers rarely say what they mean to when they speak of the more important emotions.”

“Of course it wasn’t a miscommunication. I told him I…” But now that he thought about it, Combeferre couldn’t remember ever directly stating his feelings. “Well, maybe I didn’t put it into words, but I made myself clear.”

“Enjolras managed to convince himself that Grantaire hated him, and even after they’d made love, that Grantaire was only interested in sex. _Grantaire_. Who is as subtle as an oncoming locomotive. You are quite a bit more reserved than our other friend. Wouldn’t Enjolras, who is never prepared to see signs of that particular emotion even when they are abundant and clear, easily misconstrue what you tried to convey to him?”

Combeferre frowned. “I don’t…I don’t know. I mean, I guess…it’s possible.”

Jehan squeezed his hand. “I can’t keep deceiving you like this, I’m afraid. As you’re aware, I’ve already spoken with Enjolras. He had no idea you had feelings for him. Forgive me for my betrayal, but I told him. I thought he deserved to know.”

Combeferre’s chest felt constricted, and he was sure his pulse was racing. “You’ll be forgiven instantly if you tell me what he said.”

“Not much, I’m afraid. It was quite a shock to him. You see, you were his first love, but when he ‘realized’ you didn’t care for him like that, he forced himself to get over you. He seemed conflicted when we left the restroom. I think that first love has been rekindled.”

“You’re a romantic. That’s what you wanted to see.”

Jehan shrugged. “It’s possible. But does it seem that farfetched to you that the man you love returns your affection?”

“You’re making me sound like Grantaire.”

“My friend, you’re _acting_ like Grantaire. Who is at this very minute quite possibly opening up to Enjolras, overcoming his deepest fears and anxieties, and divulging the secrets of his heart.”

“He isn’t doing it voluntarily-”

“But he’s still doing it,” Jehan said. “And you’re not. You’re sitting in your car talking to me instead.”

Combeferre sighed. He reached out a hand and impatiently tapped the steering wheel with his fingers. “Fine. I’ll go talk to them. But you’ve got to distract Courfeyrac for me. He said not to let them out until an hour had passed.”

Jehan’s smirk should have caught Combeferre’s attention, but he was much too distracted by his upcoming confrontation. “Oh believe me ‘Ferre, I’ll have no problems keeping Courfeyrac occupied for you.”

* * *

Meanwhile in the closet, things weren’t going quite as smoothly for the entombed and estranged lovers as Combeferre’s anxiety fueled fantasies had lead him to believe.

Enjolras was sitting on a bucket Grantaire had chivalrously flipped upside down for him, and Grantaire was leaning against the wall doing his very best to give Enjolras as much personal space as the cramped closet would allow. He was self-conscious of the fact that he hadn’t reapplied deodorant since his initial morning application, and that he’d had sex and walked around in summer time heat since then. Being in close quarters with him couldn’t have been fun.

Maybe that’s why Enjolras hadn’t said anything. Maybe he was so focused on breathing through his mouth that he didn’t want to risk conversation distracting him into accidentally inhaling through his nose and getting a strong whiff of Grantaire’s horrible BO.

Grantaire slipped his phone out of his pocket, and for a moment their small space was illuminated as he confirmed that no, Courfeyrac had not responded to his threatening text demanding immediate release from the tiny closet.

“They didn’t respond to me either,” Enjolras said. Even though his voice was quiet, it still startled Grantaire. They hadn’t said anything to each other since Grantaire had offered Enjolras the bucket. And even then, they’d only said ‘do you want this?’ and ‘thanks,’ respectively.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire blurted out.

“I’ve been blaming Courfeyrac. Is this somehow your fault?”

“Well…I mean, not really. But it’s certainly not yours. So, y’know, sorry.”

“Grantaire…” Enjolras reached over and squeezed his knee. “Maybe we _should_ talk.”

“Kay. Um…how’s the bucket?”

“I didn’t mean small talk.” It kind of sounded like Enjolras might be smiling. For the first time since the door had locked behind them, Grantaire wished there was a light in the maintenance closet.

He almost smiled himself, but then he remembered where the question was going, and he started wishing he had a paper bag to breathe into in case he had another panic attack.

Fuck, but a drink would have been nice too.

“Um…so I guess you’re wondering why I ran out the door like a coward back there, huh?”

“The others said it was your low self-esteem causing trouble again. I was afraid that it meant you weren’t interested in me.”

“What?” Grantaire shook his head, even though the gesture was impossible to see. “I don’t think that’s possible. Like, I’m pretty sure even straight guys and gay girls would be interested in you. You’re human perfection manifested as a pampered college kid. Trust me Enjolras, _everyone_ wants you.”

“Physical desire and romantic interest are two different things. You responded enthusiastically when I kissed you, but when I asked you to be my boyfriend you fled. That’s not a very flattering message, Grantaire.” He could hear some vulnerability in Enjolras’ voice, and it scared him a little. Almost as much as it hurt, even. He really hadn’t meant to make Enjolras feel that way, but he also hadn’t been thinking about how Enjolras would respond. He’d just been trying to get outside so he could breathe again.

Grantaire struggled into a kneeling position so that he was closer to eye level with Enjolras (for all the good that did him). He ended up having a low shelf dig into his spine, but it was worth it to be able to easily clasp Enjolras’ hand. “I’m truly, genuinely sorry about that, and deeply repentant. It was my shit self-esteem. I got all panicky and I had to get away. Enjolras, I’m mad about you. But I’m also kind of a douche bag. The thought of you dating me…of having you that close…I dunno. It scares me a little.”

“Why?” His voice was so small…too small. Enjolras’ voice wasn’t supposed to be able to do that.

How in the hell could he care about Grantaire enough to sound like that? Grantaire didn’t even like himself, so how could someone like Enjolras like him?

“Enjolras, most of the time I feel like I’m barely even friends with you, and it feels like that’s more than I deserve. If I let you any closer, I’m just scared it’ll push you away and I’ll lose what little I’ve already gotten. I need you in my life, I…just…you’re the only thing keeping me going right now.”

“Wait, what? What does that mean? Grantaire…are you saying you’re-”

But before he could say anything else, Enjolras’ voice was drowned out by the sound of the lock turning and the door scraping open. They both squinted in the sudden rush of light, and then it was blocked out by Combeferre’s tall, lanky form in the doorway.

“Hey guys. Uh…I think I have some things to contribute to this conversation.”  

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras makes a selection.
> 
> No one's really all that happy with the results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little update before I get back to work on CB&HSG. At goldfishtobleroneandamitie's suggestion, I've decided to go with a deviously manipulative take on Jehan for this fic. I am supposed to be trying new things, after all.
> 
> Anywho, hope you guys like it :)

“You’re the only thing keeping me going right now.”

The words chilled Enjolras to the bone. Everything seemed to go still; his breath, his heart, and all other sensations disappeared save the feel of the strong, calloused hand clasping his. How could the grip be that strong when the man possessing it was so frail?

“Wait, what? What does that mean? Grantaire, are you saying you’re…” He couldn’t quite choke out his query, and then suddenly time went the other way and everything sped up while he was still struggling to process what Grantaire had almost said.

Combeferre was standing in the doorway, but the conversation slipped through Enjolras’ fingers. He thought of the scars he hadn’t wanted to see under Grantaire’s clothes, and of self-deprecating jokes that were too dark to be funny, and of the way his heart seemed to stop whenever Grantaire drank himself into unconsciousness and it took just a beat too long to rouse him again.

Enjolras had guessed that Grantaire might be suffering from depression. He’d noticed small signs of self-harm even before they’d fallen into bed together.

He really hadn’t wanted to see the cries for help that abounded in all of Grantaire’s actions and the stupid jokes he made at his own expense.

Enjolras was tugged to his feet by Grantaire’s deceptively strong grip. Still in a daze, Enjolras followed Combeferre and Grantaire to Grantaire’s apartment, because apparently that’s what they’d agreed to do. He kept a tight grip on Grantaire’s hand, under the momentary and delusional belief that if he let go he’d lose the man for good.

Grantaire lived in a small two room apartment that he barely took care of. His bed took up a disproportionate amount of space in the living area, making it the only convenient place to sit. Enjolras was reluctant to return to it. He’d been happy that afternoon when he’d left the bed with a lover in tow. He didn’t want to tarnish that reminiscence with whatever was happening between them now.

Grantaire stood with him, apparently resigned to losing the use of his right hand so that Enjolras could cling to him. Combeferre was trying not to notice the clinging, and failing spectacularly as his gaze kept dropping to their clasped hands.

“Um…alright,” Combeferre began, voice low and a bit choked sounding. He looked vaguely sick to his stomach, and even though Enjolras was still gripping his hand tightly, Grantaire did as well. Combeferre began pacing, which allowed him to drop his eyes from their joined hands and train his gaze on his feet instead. “So…so the reason I, um, interrupted you is because…because…”

“You have feelings for me too,” Enjolras said hollowly. “And you don’t want me to work things out with Grantaire without taking you into consideration.”

“I-I had to try. I’ve been in love with you for so long, Enjolras. I just didn’t think that you wanted more than friendship from me.”

Enjolras looked downwards, away from Combeferre’s anxious features and instead at the rough fingers twined with his.

He loved both of them. Combeferre was his closest friend, and his intellectual equal if not his superior. He was just as passionate, but with a gentler soul. His humanity, his sense of justice, all his views balanced Enjolras’ while they challenged him. Combeferre’s friendship completed Enjolras in every sense of the word. Enjolras _needed_ him.

But Grantaire needed Enjolras much more than Enjolras needed Combeferre. He couldn’t reject him, not now. If Enjolras broke his heart and anything happened, he’d never forgive himself.

The conversation got away from him. Everything blurred into agonized hazel eyes and a stoically set mouth. Then Combeferre was gone, and instead of Enjolras clinging, Grantaire was clinging to him.

The haunted blue eyes were full of disbelief, but if he searched for it, Enjolras saw sparks of better things in Grantaire’s wasted features; happiness, gratitude, love, and the barest blossoming of hope.

Grantaire was babbling at him, so Enjolras wrenched his attention from the terrifying implications of that earlier partial admission and tried to pick out some of what he was saying.

“-love you so much it _hurts_ and I promise I’ll do everything I can to keep you from regretting this. I can’t believe you picked me, Enjolras, but I’ll try to be better. I’ll try to be good enough for you, I swear, I’ll-”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras touched his lips. “Stop that. You don’t…I don’t want you to insult yourself anymore, if you can help it. I love you. When you’re slighting yourself you’re insulting someone very precious to me.”

Grantaire slowly nodded, and adopted a hesitant smile. “I love you too. I’ll do whatever I can to make you happy.”

Enjolras smiled, the hurt hazel eyes retreating a bit from the immediacy of his thoughts. He focused on the radiant looking blue ones that were shining with life.

He was going to keep them that way.

* * *

Jehan did feel a teensie bit bad about luring Courfeyrac away from Grantaire’s building under false pretenses. Although to be fair, the boy made it incredibly easy to lead him anywhere under any kind of pretenses whatsoever. Courfeyrac had always loved attention, and at the moment the attention he sought was Jehan’s.

Jehan was fully aware that Courfeyrac’s interest in him was a passing thing. He’d noticed that the affable flirt was working his way through their circle of friends. He’d started out with a threesome with Joly and Bossuet, he and Grantaire had kept each other company on more than one occasion, he’d hooked up with Bahorel (creating some inner conflict for the poor muscle head, who’d thought he was only an LGBT ally before falling into bed with the charming “try”-sexual), he’d flirted shamelessly with Feuilly, who wasn’t having it, and apparently he’d hit on Enjolras and Combeferre mercilessly in high school until they’d both pushed him firmly into the friend zone. Jehan was an as yet unsampled flavor of the month.

Telling himself that made him feel much less guilty about taking Courfeyrac’s hand and murmuring suggestively against his ear that they ought to go for a walk together.

“I’d like to,” Courfeyrac said, leaning into Jehan’s space, an excited little smile tugging at his lips. “But I’ve got to keep an ear on those two. I don’t think they’ve resolved their issues yet, and I wouldn’t want them suffocating before they get the chance.”

“Combeferre’s on his way back in. He’ll make sure Enjolras and Grantaire are okay. Please Courf? Walk with me for a little bit. I want to talk to you about something.”

And he had. He was having his second chap book published, and he wanted Courfeyrac to read over the intro and a few of his poems for him.

Courfeyrac looked incredibly disappointed when Jehan asked for editorial favors instead of sexual ones, but he still agreed to read over the book draft for him.

Really, the disappointment and accompanying slight to his ego was a just punishment for using his friends as hookups. And besides, if Combeferre tried to interrupt the closet-conversation with Courfeyrac present, he’d have stopped him.

Jehan was still aware that his motivations were less than pure, so that night, when Combeferre called him seeking comfort over his rejection, Jehan supposed it only served him right.

He’d really thought that Enjolras was going to pick Combeferre. How could he not pick Combeferre? What in the hell was wrong with him? The two of them were nearly lifelong friends and they just plain _worked_ together. Enjolras and Grantaire were going to be a mess.

Jehan spent nearly an hour comforting Combeferre, listening when needed and giving advice when it was sought. They agreed to meet up for bagels and tea in the morning, and then Jehan stomped off for his living room, collapsed onto the couch and pouted. “My poor, dear little R…I hope you’re happy tonight, at least. Because there’s no way on earth your beloved slab of marble can give you the love and warmth you need.”

* * *

Enjolras spent the night with Grantaire. He had to borrow some lighter clothes to sleep in (“Seriously? How do you not own any pajamas?” “I just sleep in my underpants.” “Oh. Well I can’t say I object to that.”) They didn’t really talk that much, or at least, they didn’t say anything of substance while they shuffled around the two rooms preparing for bed (brushing his teeth in the kitchen sink appeared to be a novel experience for Enjolras).

Enjolras fell asleep easily enough, and seemed to be having pleasant dreams, but Grantaire couldn’t follow him into any kind of slumber, let alone a restful one. In the quiet, all his insecurities came out to plague him. He looked at Enjolras’ beauty and thought of his own ugliness. He remembered Enjolras’ strength and conviction and shuddered at his inability to keep even the simplest promises for those most important to him.

‘You can’t do this. You’ll disgust him. You’ll hurt him. You’re just going to lose him.’

He’d already hurt Enjolras. There was no way in hell Enjolras actually wanted to stay in Grantaire’s miserable little apartment; he was clearly uncomfortable with the messy, cluttered space. It was pretty obvious he just didn’t want to leave Grantaire’s side. He was freaked out by what Grantaire had let slip, and Grantaire had effectively guilted Enjolras into dating him.

That stupid fucking slip-up. Grantaire was sure that if he’d kept his mouth shut, Enjolras would have picked Combeferre (after all, who wouldn’t?) Even if it was true, he shouldn’t have said it. He shouldn’t have done that to Enjolras.

Grantaire hugged his knees and sadly regarded the angelic figure in his bed. Enjolras’ lips were slightly parted in sleep, delicate gold lashes resting against his cheek. He had no right to have Enjolras this close to him.

He touched Enjolras’ cheek, marveling at the softness of his skin and how smooth it was. Grantaire’s face was a mess of acne scars, stubble from his careless attempts at shaving, and some scabs and old scars from all the times he’d literally been falling down drunk. He’d forgotten how smooth a cheek could be.

His heart felt ridiculously full and even a tad heavy as he looked at his new lover. On the one hand, swells of happiness and gratitude were rioting for his attention. On the other, he knew the only way this was going to end was with a massive fuck up. Then Enjolras would be gone, and the absolute certainty of that inevitability scared him. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Enjolras, but he was going to. He just wasn’t capable of returning those beautiful and pure emotions Enjolras somehow harbored for him.

It got to be too much. Grantaire climbed out of bed and trudged over to his kitchen. He settled down on the grimy floor with a bottle in his hand and drank until his conflicting emotions settled into a distant and fuzzy murmur he could deal with.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras dreamed of Combeferre the first night he slept in Grantaire’s bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. I've been ridiculously busy in RL. Work's been severely limiting my free time while also generally leaving me too exhausted to write on the occasions when I do catch a spare hour or two. Accordingly, this chapter is short and probably not very satisfying. On the other hand, it's here, so please try to enjoy it. Thanks in advance for any feedback.

Enjolras dreamed of Combeferre the first night he slept in Grantaire’s bed.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar dream. He’d been having variations on it for years. In it, he and Combeferre were middle aged and they were in some kind of long term relationship. Enjolras didn’t know how long they’d been together or how it had come to be; he and dream-Combeferre had been together so long that it wasn’t natural for them to talk about it much. They just were, and it was comfortable and it was the best thing that had ever happened to them.

In this particular iteration of the dream they were at a cabin in the mountains that Enjolras’ parents had owned. Enjolras was sitting up in bed looking at a spectacular view of crystal clear lakes, wooded mountains, and a dazzling blue sky that made him think of a powerful blue gaze he hadn’t seen in years (in the dream, anyhow). Enjolras sighed, curled his knees to his chest, and wondered how Grantaire would have painted that view. He’d never really cared for landscapes, but he’d been good at them.

Combeferre walked into the room, and he tried to shift his thoughts away from their old friend. When he woke, Enjolras wouldn’t be able to recall why thoughts of Grantaire were so painful for his dream-self beyond the obvious, that it was pretty inconsiderate to think of an old flame when he was in the presence of his partner. He’d wonder later if in his dream something had happened to Grantaire. There seemed to be an air of tragedy in the way he’d tried to avoid even thinking of him…

Dream-Combeferre sat down on the end of the bed. Enjolras’ subconscious had come up with a satisfying version of him at middle age. He was as handsome as ever, possibly even more so, as Combeferre’s wisdom and maturity seemed more inclined to a man with silver at his temples than a soft-spoken college student.

In the dream they talked of their acquaintances. Enjolras’ subconscious filled in the missing years for him perfectly. He just knew that Marius and Cosette were married and had a herd of improbably sweet tempered children, and that Courfeyrac was the most indulgent honorary uncle the world had ever seen. He knew that Joly and Bossuet were still taking care of each other, but that it seemed to be working out alright even without Musichetta in the picture. He knew that Bahorel had mostly fallen off the radar, but he turned up every now and then with a new scar and a colorful story about its acquisition, just to let everyone know he was alright. He knew that Jehan was teaching creative writing and that he was still full of love and passion, though he had to hear this from Combeferre because the two of them didn’t really talk much anymore.

He had no idea what had happened to Grantaire, but he also thought he might not want to know.

“I still love you, you know,” Combeferre murmured gently, seemingly out of the blue since they’d been idly chatting about their friends.

Enjolras smiled at him, not thrown in the least by the oddly timed comment. “I still love hearing you say that. I love you too.”

“I know. So…if you ever want to talk about… _him_. We can. I think we should.”

“I don’t…” Enjolras looked out the window again, turning away from a concerned hazel gaze and staring at the sky instead. “We really don’t need to.” They should. He knew it was something they needed to address, even though he really didn't want to bring all that up again.

Enjolras really didn't want to know whatever his dream-self was shying away from. But he needed to know, even though he did already have an idea…

Enjolras woke with a start, and he felt incredibly guilty doing so in Grantaire’s bed. He rubbed the heel of his hands over his face and tried to shake that feeling of comfort and safety that had come from sitting in a familiar room with Combeferre. Everything had been so peaceful in the dream, almost eerily so.

He let his hands drop to his sides, then felt along the mattress, searching for a warm spot that wasn’t there. “’Taire?” Enjolras’ voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. He sat up and looked around the room, but he was alone.

Well that was worrying. It was a really small apartment. “’Taire, where are you?” Enjolras got to his feet and carefully made his way out of the living space and into the other room, the one that functioned as something between a kitchen and an art studio.

He found Grantaire slumped over in front of the sink. There was a crowd of empty or mostly empty cans around him, along with a sizable and empty bottle. Enjolras knelt in front of Grantaire and hesitantly touched his shoulder. “’Taire?”

Grantaire didn’t stir. Enjolras gave him a little shake and he only groaned. “Grantaire, get up. You shouldn’t…why are you on the kitchen floor? Come on, get up.” When he’d gone to sleep Grantaire had been lying next to him in bed. He remembered having the artist’s long fingered hands carding through his hair before he’d drifted off. It had been so nice…why did he get up and drink himself into a stupor on the kitchen floor?

‘Because he’s still scared,’ Enjolras realized. They hadn’t talked enough. Grantaire’s demons were still getting to him. Though really, even if they’d spent the entire night talking there probably wasn’t a conversation strong enough to dispel all of Grantaire’s demons.

Enjolras shook Grantaire’s shoulder more roughly and finally managed to provoke a response that was almost a sentence. “G’way…leaf me ‘lone.”

“Grantaire, get up,” Enjolras said, tone commanding and almost a little threatening. Grantaire’s eyelids fluttered, but when they opened they were unfocused. “I’ll help, if you need it, but I’m not leaving you on the floor. Let’s go. C’mon.”

“Nnn…Enj? Whadd’re you…what?”

It was a struggle, but Enjolras got Grantaire to the other room and helped him into bed. He cleaned up the bottle and the cans, then fetched Grantaire a glass of water and prodded him until he drank it. He forced him to down another one, and after that he wasn’t sure what to do.

He wanted to touch him, somehow, to assure himself that Grantaire was okay and he wasn’t going to make good on the vague threat he’d let slip the previous day, or share the mysterious but undeniably tragic fate of his dreamed counterpart. He really wanted to stroke back the tangled hair by Grantaire’s temple, but he wasn’t sure how he’d respond if Grantaire flinched from his touch. This was new territory for him and he wasn’t sure what to do.

Grantaire set the empty glass on the bedside table, then hugged his arms and curled in on himself, facing away from Enjolras. It felt like a slap.

Enjolras took a deep breath, and tried again to reach him. “Will you talk to me please? What happened last night? You seemed okay when we went to bed. Did I…” Oh shit, had he talked in his sleep? Did Grantaire hear him say something about Combeferre?

Grantaire visibly tensed. “I just had a rough night. It happens sometimes.”

Enjolras bristled. He didn’t appreciate being scared out of his wits for the man only to have his concern brushed aside like that. “You could have woken me up. You didn’t have to be alone, you know.”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to deal with this shit.”

“I did sign up for it, Grantaire. I want to help you.”

Grantaire squeezed his arms even tighter and cringed further away from him. “Can you just let it go? I have bad nights. It’s just what happens.”

“It doesn’t have to-”

“You can’t fix this, Enj. Just let it go. I’m fucking broken. Isn’t that why you picked me? Now just fucking let it go or it’ll get worse.”

Enjolras bit his lip. He wanted to deny it, to scream at Grantaire that that hadn’t been why he picked him at all. But Grantaire’s worrying mental state actually had a lot to do with Enjolras’ decision, more than he was comfortable admitting.

“I’m going back to my place,” Enjolras said, trying to keep his voice steady when all he wanted to do was scream in frustration. “I’ll leave you alone for a few hours, but only on the condition that you spend them putting yourself back together. I want you to give this relationship some careful consideration, Grantaire, because I will not let you attack me through my feelings for you. You told me you loved me. I’d really appreciate it if you’d act like it. I’ll be back at dinner time.”

Grantaire didn’t say anything, but Enjolras didn’t really expect him to. Enjolras gathered up his clothes and left, all the while hoping it was the right call.

When he got outside he sent Jehan a few texts, letting him know some of what had happened and asking him to check in on Grantaire. The gentle poet was so good at reading people. He’d know what to say.

Grantaire was going to be okay. Jehan wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

 


End file.
